


But Seas Between Us Broad Have Roared

by lotherington



Series: Long Ago and Far Away [25]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 1940s, AU, Historical, M/M, WWII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotherington/pseuds/lotherington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>‘Leave it then.’ Sherlock slipped his hand back into John’s trousers. ‘I can’t think of anyone I want to see on New Year’s Eve other than you, naked, in our bed, covered in sweat with that <i>gorgeous</i> little look you get on your face when you’re about to--’</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>The knocking came again, louder and more insistent.</i>
</p>
<p>New Year's Eve, 1944.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Seas Between Us Broad Have Roared

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing like the pressure of it actually being the day you planned this instalment to happen on to get writing! Happy New Year, everyone. 
> 
> The title is from Auld Lang Syne. Warnings for alcoholism and mention of domestic abuse.

_New Year’s Eve, 1944._

‘I think my ribs could stand me kneeling at your feet, don’t you?’ Sherlock purred, resting his hands on John’s waist as he stood behind him, mouthing at the curve of John’s ear. John was standing at the kitchen sink, scrubbing his hands and forearms after returning from a late shift at the hospital. Sherlock’s day off had coincided with New Year and he’d decided to come down to London to surprise John after his shift had ended at at midday.

‘Mmm, and why would you want to be kneeling at my feet?’ John said, turning his head to smirk at Sherlock, who squeezed John’s waist through the sleeveless pullover he had on.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Sherlock murmured throatily, bringing one of his hands to John’s front, hooking his thumb in the waistband of John’s grey trousers. ‘Perhaps I’d like to undo these buttons--’ he tapped at said buttons with his fingers, ‘with my teeth.’ He bit down on John’s earlobe, causing John to shudder and drop the bar of soap he’d been holding into the sink. ‘Perhaps I fancy parting the material and pressing my tongue against you before I drag down your underwear--’ Sherlock inched his hand into John’s trousers and began to stroke John’s cock lazily, ‘before I drag down your underwear, and then swallow you whole.’

John’s head fell back onto Sherlock’s shoulder as his eyes dropped closed and his tongue flicked out to lick his lips. ‘Quite the wordsmith this evening, Mr. Holmes,’ he said, turning to press open-mouthed kisses to Sherlock’s neck.

‘Mm, aren’t I just?’ Sherlock mumbled, grabbing John’s face to kiss him soundly, forcing his tongue into John’s mouth.

The loud groan from John nearly drowned out the knocking at the door downstairs.

‘Mrs Hudson will get it,’ Sherlock muttered against John’s lips, yanking John round by his hips and pressing against him from the waist down, giving his still-injured ribs room to breathe.

‘She’s in Kent until Tuesday,’ John gasped, muffled against Sherlock’s mouth.

‘Leave it then.’ Sherlock slipped his hand back into John’s trousers. ‘I can’t think of anyone I want to see on New Year’s Eve other than you, naked, in our bed, covered in sweat with that _gorgeous_ little look you get on your face when you’re about to--’

The knocking came again, louder and more insistent. 

‘Sherlock,’ John moaned. ‘Don’t you think we ought to--’

‘No,’ Sherlock interrupted, tightening his hand, smirking when John whimpered. ‘Not important. It’s New Year’s Eve and whoever it is should be at home, not bothering us. Now, let’s get undressed and into bed to ring in the new year in an appropriate manner.’

The knocking became a loud, dull thumping.

‘No, it’s no good, Sherlock, I’ve got to see who that is.’ John managed to extract himself from Sherlock’s hands and walked over to their front door, wincing as he adjusted himself in his trousers. ‘I’ll be back up in a moment, you just--’

‘Whoever it is, get rid of them, and sharpish,’ Sherlock grumbled. ‘I’m going to get naked and you’d better not be long about joining me!’ he called as John walked down the stairs, just in time for another round of banging at the door.

‘Yes, yes, I’m coming,’ John muttered, unlocking the door and opening it a crack. ‘Harry?’ he whispered when he saw who was on the other side, letting the door fall open wider. 

‘Thought you’d never answer,’ she said, kissing his cheek and pushing two small figures inside before she stepped through the door as well, carrying a large burgundy suitcase.

‘Are you alright?’

Harry glanced up at him from underneath her hat, her face catching the light from the standard lamp. A large bruise bloomed over one eye, dark purple in colour. ‘Aye,’ she said, smiling falsely. ‘Fine.’

‘Oh, Jesus, he didn’t.’

‘I didn’t know where else to go, I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead, but it was all a bit last minute, see, and...’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ John said, pulling his sister into a tight hug, cupping the back of her head protectively. ‘I’m here, don’t you worry.’ 

Harry’s hands shook against John’s sides and she grabbed his pullover, as though to steady herself. ‘I feel such a fool, Johnny,’ she whispered, wiping her eyes on his shoulder.

John gently kissed the ugly bruising on her face. ‘Come on, let’s get you upstairs.’ He bent to pick up the case she’d brought in, ruffling his nephew’s hair and kissing his niece on the top of her head before walking quickly up to 221b, putting the case down and going through to his and Sherlock’s bedroom before Harry and the children had got to the door.

True to his word, Sherlock lay entirely naked in the centre of their bed, propped up against a stack of pillows, idly stroking himself. ‘That was an unacceptable amount of time to keep me waiting--’

‘Shut up and get dressed. Harry’s here with the children.’ John turned on his heel and quickly left the room, shutting the door firmly. By the time Harry and the children had made it upstairs, John was rinsing the old leaves out of the teapot.

‘Colin, Nancy, come here,’ Harry said, bending down and unbuttoning their threadbare coats. ‘Go and hang your coats on the peg there and sit yourselves down. Don’t get in Uncle John’s way.’

‘They’re alright, Harry, they’ve had a long journey,’ John said, crouching down next to Harry and smiling at his niece and nephew. ‘Hug for your Uncle John, Nancy?’ Nancy wrapped her arms around his neck and clung tight. 

‘Hello,’ she whispered, her Scottish accent noticeable even from the short word. John kissed her forehead and pinched Colin’s cheek after putting her down, ruffling his hair. 

‘Turning into a strapping lad, aren’t you, Colin?’ he said. Colin looked at the floor and mumbled something, folding his coat over one arm.

‘Sherlock in?’ Harry asked, ushering the children to sit at the kitchen table.

‘He is, yes,’ Sherlock answered, stepping out of the bedroom, busy tying the sash on his plaid dressing gown. ‘And keen to know why you’ve come all the way down from bonny Scotland to bother... oh.’

‘Yes, I’m quite sorry to be a burden,’ Harry muttered, her nostrils flaring as she met Sherlock’s gaze.

‘No, don’t be silly,’ Sherlock mumbled, having the good grace to look shame-faced. ‘Cigarette?’

‘Oh, I could murder one,’ Harry replied as John put the teapot on the table, along with a glass of milk for both of the children. Sherlock placed two of his cigarettes between his lips and lit both with a match, handing one to Harry when the tip glowed amber.

***

‘You’re looking well,’ Harry said a couple of hours later, running her fingers through Nancy’s hair, after she’d fallen asleep on the settee with her head in Harry’s lap.

‘I am well,’ John replied, sipping the tea from the third pot he’d made that night.

‘Incredible what a bombing can do for one’s health and wellbeing,’ Sherlock said, smirking from his chair, blowing a lungful of smoke up towards the ceiling.

Harry smiled, one side of her mouth pulling upwards. ‘Johnny sent me a letter all about it.’ She sipped from the teacup she’d been adding something extra to from her hip flask since arriving. ‘Everything’s looking up for lucky old Johnny, eh?’ She addressed her knees when she spoke.

John sighed and looked into the embers of the fire he’d built after getting home from the hospital. The clock downstairs struck for quarter to midnight.

‘Nice little life you two’ve carved out for yourselves here,’ she said, looking around the room. 

John stood up and placed the guard around the fireplace. ‘I’ve changed the sheets on my bed for you, Harry, and made up a bed on the floor with a spare mattress and some blankets for Colin and Nancy. I’ll give you a hand with getting the children to bed, come on.’

Harry glared and slammed her teacup down. ‘Settee for you then, is it?’ she said pointedly.

John said nothing, scooping a fast asleep Colin up into his arms. ‘I’ll come back down for Nancy. The bathroom’s next to Sherlock’s bedroom if you’d like to wash your face and clean your teeth and perhaps have a glass of water and an aspirin out of the cabinet.’

Sherlock took another drag on his cigarette as he watched Harry make her faltering way towards the bathroom. He stood up, his face twitching at a sudden flash of pain from his ribs.

‘Alright?’ John asked from the kitchen doorway.

‘Fine.’ Sherlock waved his hand. ‘I got up awkwardly. Are you alright?’

John lifted both eyebrows and bent down to pick Nancy up, holding her close. ‘Bit of a mess, isn’t it?’

Sherlock nodded and rested his hand on the small of John’s back. ‘I’ll go and warm the bed up.’

Sighing, John carried Nancy upstairs and lay her down next to Colin on the mattress on the floor, pulling the blankets up over both of them. He turned the sheets down for Harry and helped her into bed when she appeared at the top of the stairs.

‘I love you,’ he said, touching his fingertips to the shadowy bruise on Harry’s face, then pressing the tip of her nose, identical to his. The wind moaned outside the boarded-up window. 

‘M’just jealous, Johnny,’ Harry murmured, her eyes bloodshot and sad. 

John tucked the blankets tight around her and kissed her forehead. ‘We’ll talk in the morning. Go to sleep, hm?’

Harry squeezed his hand tightly and nodded. ‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot...’ she sang softly. John smiled and joined in, mimicking their mother’s accent.

‘And never brought tae mind...’

‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot, for the sake of auld lang syne,’ Harry murmured, squeezing John’s hand again. ‘Happy New Year, Johnny.’

‘And you, Harry.’

John slipped under the covers next to Sherlock just as the clock downstairs began to strike for midnight. Sherlock kissed him softly and shuffled closer. 

‘Nineteen forty-five,’ John said quietly, lacing his and Sherlock’s fingers together.

‘It can’t be as bad as nineteen forty-three,’ Sherlock said. 

‘Do you think it could top nineteen thirty-seven?’ John kissed Sherlock again.

‘What happened in nineteen thirty-seven?’ Sherlock asked, pretending to look confused. John hit his leg.

‘You know full well.’

‘Mmm, yes. I met you.’

‘Seduced me, more like.’

‘How very wicked of me.’ Sherlock grinned and John laughed quietly, scratching at Sherlock’s scalp. 

The wind blew fiercely against the bedroom window. The Tiffany lamp’s gentle glow threw most of the room into shadow and softened both of their features, giving the illusion of a shared, secret world within the flat.

‘She’s always nasty after a drink,’ John murmured, resting his head on top of Sherlock’s.

‘Most people are.’ Sherlock bent his hand back to stroke John’s face. ‘She knows, I take it?’

‘Knows?’ John snorted. ‘She’s the same.’

‘As...’

‘As us, yes. Got drunk one night eight years ago and went with the man she now calls her husband for “a lark,” as she put it at the time. Ended up in the family way and didn’t find out before it was too late to... do anything about it. He insisted on marrying her when he found out and, well, they lived unhappily ever after.’

Sherlock pulled a face. ‘I knew there was something. Poor thing.’

‘Mm.’ John closed his eyes and brushed his cheek against Sherlock’s curls. ‘I love you.’

‘And I you. Happy New Year.’

‘Happy New Year, Sherlock.’

John closed his eyes and rested his hand lightly on Sherlock’s chest, over his steadily beating heart.


End file.
